When Angels Deserve to Die
by Silver Foxfire
Summary: It's not about Draconians. ;


TITLE: When Angels Deserve to Die  
AUTHOR: Silver Foxfire  
SERIES: Escaflowne  
RATING: R  
PAIRINGS: Make one up.   
WARNINGS: Angst, Violence, Song-Fic  
DISCLAIMERS: I don't own Escaflowne and I probably never will. I make no money and I do this only for love of writing.  
NOTE: The song is 'Chop Suey' by System of a Down  
  
WHEN ANGELS DESERVE TO DIE  
By Silver Foxfire  
  
*Wake up (wake up)  
*Grab a brush and put a little makeup  
*Hide the scars to fade away the shake up  
*(Hide the scars to fade away the shake )  
*Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?  
*Here you go create another fable  
  
Allen stared blankly toward the mirror that sat at the end of his bed. It was a bit of torture he couldn't help but allow himself. The blue eyes that stared back at him were his mothers, full of pain, regret, and sorrow. The blonde hair that spilled over his shoulders in snarls belonged to his mother too...   
  
Such a shame with the other boys, to have such feminine features. Blonde hair and blue eyes and such a girlish beauty. His father was large, dark. Also a betrayer, a deserter.   
  
He felt that old flame, the bad blood, burn inside him, furious at his father's fleeing, cowardly form. Because he left, his family bore the weight of his cowardice.   
  
*(You wanted to)  
*Grab a brush and put on a little makeup  
*(You wanted to)  
*Hide the scars to fade away the shake up  
*(You wanted to)  
*Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?  
*(You wanted to)  
  
He watched as his pupils dilated in his anger, the iris all but vanishing beneath the black. The intense rage that he felt for the man, his father. The man who'd never given anything to him. Not even the masculinity that the knight had strived for.   
  
The way he sat, the way his face was shaped, the way that his hands were shaped. They were all things that women would pray for. His long, thick hair and wide eyes. They would never vanish. He remembered how men would think him a girl when he was a bandit. Laughing and telling 'pretty girl' to get back in her dresses and give her sword back to her brother.   
  
He'd been driven mad, attacking the men viciously before forcing them to give him their money, just enough to survive. He grew bold, grew violent. No one wanted to associate with him, not even other thieves. If only because of his temper that flared hotter than the desert sun.   
  
*I don't think you trust, in, my,  
*Self-righteous suicide,  
*I, cry, when angels deserve to die  
  
He clenched his fists and glared at the reflection that seemed to change, flashing images of his past. The way he'd held his sister when she suffered a nightmare, his kisses soothing her and drying her tears as she nestled against him.   
  
Flashes again, rapid movements and a man shouting as Allen ran from his house. His beloved sister gone and his treasured mother dead. It was all his father's fault. That he knew.   
  
*Wake up (wake up)  
*Grab a brush and put a little makeup  
*Hide the scars to fade away the shake  
*Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?  
*Here you come... need another fable  
  
The trembling that had begun as a quiver in his hand had traveled, twisting his stomach violently and forcing bile in his throat, mouth watering in the need to lubricate and protect his mouth from the flux of half-eaten food.   
  
His hands fisted in the sheets as he forced it down, his eyes never leaving those of a boy sobbing in the dark, curled against a tree as his only friend came to him, wrapping his thin, boyish arms around him. His friend was nothing but a peasant from the nearby village, but he was his only friend. He clung tight to the wiry boy, burying his face in the filthy rags that his status deemed worthy.   
  
*(You wanted to)  
*Grab a brush and put on a little makeup  
*(You wanted to)  
*Hide the scars to fade away the shake  
*(You wanted to)  
*Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?  
*(You wanted to)  
  
He'd loved his friend as much as he could love anyone. The only boy that didn't stare at him with humility or resentment like the other poor people. And the only one who didn't stare at him with disgust like the other boys of 'noble blood'.   
  
He knew all too well how one mistake that wasn't even his own could mar the reputation of the noble Schezar line. The boy who stroked his hated hair and tucked it carefully behind an ear cared nothing about his life.   
  
"I love you for your heart. My Mama says that's all that a person needs to love and be loved."   
  
The words burned the knight's heart as they seemed to hover in the mirror, tears beginning to prick at his eyes.   
  
*I don't think you trust in my  
*Self-righteous suicide,  
*I cry, when angels deserve to die  
*In my self-righteous suicide,  
*I cry, when angels deserve to die  
*In my self-righteous suicide,  
*I cry, when angels deserve to die  
  
His heart has been ripped when he watched the family guards come and tear the boy away from him. He'd screamed and shouted... but there was no way that he could help him. The cries of pain and the sound of the whip tearing through the air broke Allen's fragile hold on reality. His sobs had stopped, his body becoming heavy and still.  
  
He fell against the earth, feeling the grass cushion and cut at the same time, a jagged blade placing a small tear on his cheek.   
  
He'd woken in the house, a nursemaid stroking his hair.   
  
"I'm sorry, child." The woman said, her voice old and rasped. "But we're leaving. Us all. Without your mother to pay us... and since you have no guardian... we must leave.   
  
*Father (mother)  
*Father (brother)  
*Father (fucker)  
*Father (aaahh)  
  
Allen felt the first flush of a tear over his cheek and his hand drifted to the knife tucked safely beneath his bed, his other hand pulling loose the shirt that clung to his small, birdlike shoulders.   
  
He could see the blade glisten in the mirror as he shifted it between his hands, his chest pale and tracked with deliberate rises of flesh. A mark over his left shoulder for Cerena, penance for letting her vanish. A mark over his right for his mother, pain for letting her suffer. A mark over his heart for Marlene, for letting her leave.   
  
He shifted the blade, slowly pressing it on the other side of his chest, opposite Marlene's crest, watching blood well in the small incision. He would place his father's crest there, for letting him escape.   
  
"Allen...?!"  
  
*Father into your hands, I commend my spirit  
*Father into your hands, why have you forsaken me?  
*In your eyes, forsaken me  
*In your thoughts, forsaken me  
*In your heart, forsaken me  
  
Allen didn't pay attention as the knife was pulled away before the completion of his father's mark. Rough, large hands seizing his shoulders as his eyes stayed on the mirror. He felt someone slap him, thankful for the numbness that his anger gave as it seeped away like poison.   
  
"Allen, damn you! Snap the fuck out of it!"  
  
The glaze that hovered in the knight's eyes didn;t leave as he was lifted and roughly dropped on the bed, alcohol being poured of the the half-finished wound. He could feel the muscles of his chest spasm and his body trembled, though his face held nothing.   
  
"Fucking bastard..."   
  
*Oh, trust in my, self-righteous suicide  
*I cry when angels deserve to die  
*In my self-righteous suicide  
*Why cry when angels deserve to die  
  
The focus slowly shifted, the candles he'd only just lit burned away to almost nothing.  
  
"Are you insane? Is that it? You're trying to kill yourself?!"  
  
Allen's eyes slid slowly over to his right, where his first mate sat, glaring darkly at him.   
  
"No." Was all he said and all he would say on the subject. He had no need to explain himself.  
  
He only shut his eyes, listening to the man whisper curses and feeling his glare. He would just have to wait until another day to complete his father's mark.  
  
_-^-_OWARI_-^-_  
  
-.-; This is an odd piece, I know, but it's the only thing that emerged from beneath the Writer's wall I have. 


End file.
